


Magpies

by bikelock28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Gen, One Shot, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Vignette, Young Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-09-05 08:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikelock28/pseuds/bikelock28
Summary: One for sorrow, two for joy. A one-shot for each member of the Black family. Ch12 now up.





	1. One For Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of vignettes about the Black family, based on the traditional English nursery rhyme about magpies (I won’t write it here in case you want to see the rhyme unfold with this story, but if not it’s easy to find on Google). Each chapter will centre on a different character. I hope you enjoy this story, and please remember to review.

Last year, Druella's Christmas was a joyous affair. Cygnus had bought her the most beautiful diamond earrings and matching necklace. Cissy and Lucius came for Christmas dinner, cooing over little Draco as they opened his Christmas presents together. Druella and Cygnus had been bursting with pride; their first grandchild's first Christmas, and on top of that he was a healthy baby, a boy, and the son of a Malfoy. He had his father's pointed chin and grey eyes, but there was no mistaking his Black beauty. A perfect baby boy. Bella and Rodolphus had been there too, and Roddy's brother Rabastan, and the Notts had visited in the afternoon; their son was only a few months older than Draco. There'd been pudding and custard, wine and Firewhiskey, chatter and laughter. Druella had been surrounded by her family and friends and she'd felt content and calm and loved.

This Christmas will be different. Nobody will come for Christmas Day. Druella's older daughter is in prison, and her youngest, having narrowly escaped the same fate, is keeping her head down with her husband and son. Lucius was able to pull strings to keep them out of Azkaban, for which Druella is grateful. However, he and Narcissa have been distant from Druella and Cygnus the past few months, knowing it is wise to play down their connections with the Lestranges. Cissy's husband's family have their own Christmas traditions, and at present being a Malfoy is much safer than being a Black. Druella supposes that she should be proud- her daughter has the Slytherin values of knowing which side her bread is buttered on. But pride is difficult to muster after this abandonment. This bereavement.

Letters and visits to Azkaban are not permitted. Bellatrix will be spending her Christmas in a cell, surrounded by Dementors, separated not only from her blood family but from her husband. Perhaps she will able to hear him yell; the thought sickens Druella but she knows that to Bellatrix it will be a comfort. Her daughter was always a capable girl, but Druella did not anticipate that she was capable of the crime she is in prison for. Not just torture, but torture to _insanity._ Not of Muggles but of pureblood wizards. A couple with a son Draco's age. From childhood, Bella was the leader of her sisters and the first to step too far over the line. Druella had been impressed when Bellatrix and Rabastan had joined the Death Eaters a few years ago; she should have expected how fanatical Bella would become. The Dark Lord had always been a figure of fascination and awe in the family, but for Bella he had become an all-consuming obsession. Druella and Cygnus had been shocked at first, but eventually they'd filtered it out. Just one of Bella's little quirks and besides, they were proud of her for fighting for pureblood supremacy. Even last Christmas as Bella, Lucius and the Lestrange boys had spoken in hushed, excited voices of attacks on Muggles and the Dark Lord's plans for the following months, Druella had disregarded it as just talk. She wishes she would go back and warn them all of what's coming. The Blacks are no longer a pureblood family worth the name. Bella and Sirius imprisoned, Cygnus' brother and youngest nephew dead and the rest avoided and embarrassed. At night, with Cygnus safely asleep beside her, Druella's thoughts sometimes stray to Andromeda. Her middle daughter, who hasn't been her daughter for almost a decade. It had been so easy at first to blame the Mudblood (Druella has tried and failed to forget his name) for captivating their daughter and spiriting her away to a life of Muggle debauchery and squalor. It's easier to pretend that than to accept the truth; that Andy had her head screwed on too tightly to be enraptured by a pretty boy or a false notion of romance in poverty. The truth is that Druella's middle daughter abandoned their family far before running off with Ted Tonks. For years she'd been marching further down the path to madness and extremism. Reading books by Muggle authors, using Muggle slang, protesting Black beliefs and traditions. Andromeda had gone long before the Tonks boy appeared. The child Andromeda was rumoured to have birthed would be eight now- probably joined by a sibling or two. What if they're at Hogwarts at the same time as Draco? Cygnus and Lucius will have to have a stern word with him about staying away from wizards who don't deserve his time.

Druella will be spending this Christmas alone with her husband. Cygnus was always a loving but stern spouse, a strong man with firm beliefs, a big character who was always first with a quip or a mocking impersonation. Since the Dark Lord's fall and Bella's imprisonment Cygnus' sternness has cooled into bitter surliness. He's lost interest in japes and impressions. He's kept his job but, his star at the Ministry has definitely fallen and his fortune has too- there will be no earrings or necklace for Druella this Christmas. Last year they'd stolen kisses under the mistletoe and had held hands while watching Draco open his presents. This Christmas Druella will count herself lucky is she receives a peck on the cheek from her husband on Christmas morning. He doesn't care for her affection any more. Sometimes Druella finds herself wondering if Cygnus has always felt this way and it was only their children who kept him interested in her. Now the children are grown and gone, what is left?

The tree in the house opposite twinkles with baubles and candles. Christmas should be a time for warmth, love and family. But this Christmas Druella Black's only companions will be coldness, regret and sorrow.


	2. Two For Joy

It's been four days and Bellatrix can't stop looking. Every few minutes she lifts her sleeve to inspect her Mark and gaze at it proudly. There's a crimson glow on the skin around the brand. It's sore, but Bella refuses to touch it, not wanting to risk damaging something so precious. The Dark Lord had decided some weeks ago that Bellatrix and her sister, both their husbands, and Bellatrix's brother-in-law, had proved themselves worthy enough to take the Mark. Bella had been overjoyed at the thought; a physical display of her beliefs and loyalty. A permanent connection with the Dark Lord. Rodolphus had leaned over to kiss her but Bellatrix turned away, eyes only for the Dark Lord. She made a good pureblood marriage for her family, and she cares for her husband but nothing more. This moment was between her and her Lord. It was not for Bellatrix's husband to intrude on the joy. The thrill of being granted the Mark was short-lived however, when Narcissa had looked nervous and the Dark Lord had asked what she was afraid of. Narcissa had muttered that she thought it inappropriate for a woman to take the Mark. Lucius could tell her when she was needed, she claimed. She would not be on the front lines of battle, and they planned to have children so would not want them to ask difficult questions about their mother's tattoo.

"Then you will answer," Bella had hissed, "That it is a sign of your devotion to your Master!"

"My Lord…" Narcissa mumbled.

"Where is your loyalty?" Bella spat. Cissy was being cowardly. Self-serving. She would reap the benefits of the Dark Lord's work without showing true devotion. Cissy the sissy, just like when they were children.

"Quiet," the Dark Lord ordered, and Bellatrix had shut up immediately. The Dark Lord looked down the table at the Malfoys. Narcissa met his eye and looked frightened but fierce. It was an expression Bella remembered on her sister's face since Bella had threatened to decapitate Cissy's dolls in the nursery. The Dark Lord considered for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he chuckled quietly and said, "Mrs Malfoy, you will not have to take the Mark. Your husband doing so is proof enough of your allegiance."

Bellatrix had wanted to argue, but the Dark Lord's word was law, and more importantly it was truth. The assembled had nodded and the Dark Lord had moved on to discuss other matters. Bella had avoided looking at Narcissa for the rest of the evening, and had vowed to herself that once she got her Mark she would flaunt it at Cissy as much as possible. Examining the Mark now, she decides that she will make sure to mention the red soreness around it, to show Cissy the pain that those who are truly loyal will happily suffer to show their devotion.

As Bellatrix is thinking this, her husband bustles into the room asking about dinner. He does this often; assuming that because she is a woman the kitchen is her domain. That's the expectation of their parents' generation, but Bellatrix knows she will do more. She is a true Slytherin; she has ambition. She will not be confined.

"Don't ask me, ask Wodby," Bellatrix snaps. Their good-for-nothing house-elf, given to Bellatrix as a wedding present from Rodolphus' parents, is ancient and smelly and taking longer than ever with her duties nowadays, "Give her a kick,"

Rodolphus doesn't go to find their house-elf, and instead inquires, "How is your Mark?"

"Fine,"

"Mine hurts. Does yours?"

"Not much," Bellatrix answers quickly, pushing her sleeve back down. Her husband walks over and puts his arm around her shoulder.

"I am so proud of you," he whispers into her hair.

"Me too,"

"We will do good work for the Dark Lord,"

Good? Rodolphus and Rabastan may do _good_ work for their Master, but Bellatrix's service will be _great._ She will be his most faithful servant, his closest confident, his best lieutenant. Bellatrix will maim and kill and die for her Master, while her baby sister will not even take the Mark. Cissy's beauty has seen her far, but Bellatrix will go further. She will go farther than them all.

"Ask Wodby about dinner now, dearest," Bellatrix murmurs, pecking her husband on the cheek.

Rodolphus kisses her softly and drifts away to the kitchen. Once he is gone, Bellatrix roles up her sleeve again. She shuts her eyes and presses her palm to the Mark, imagining the Dark Lord doing the same with his own. Her Mark will heat at the touch of his and she will rush to him, ready to do his bidding; her service in pursuit if purity. Bellatrix grimaces, smiling as she presses her Mark harder. The pressure is joy. The pain is bliss.


	3. Three For A Girl

Cygnus' wife is wailing, and she has been for the past hour. The bed's rattling as she shifts and writhes, despite the Healer's soothing words. Cygnus is meant to be out of the way downstairs with Bellatrix, Andromeda and their governess. He shouldn't be listening to this women's business. But Druella's pregnancy has been a difficult one; there has been sickness and bleeding, and Cygnus wants to make sure that his wife is safe. This Healer birthed their older girls and Cygnus trusts her, but love and concern outweigh trust. He's pacing up and down the corridor listening to Druella's wails, glancing at his watch every few moments. It's been a long labour. She woke up this morning clawing at his chest and gasping that the contractions had started. Now it's past five the evening and the minutes are creeping by. How much longer will it go on for? Is a difficult birth the sign of an ill baby? Does a long labour damage the child? It is a world of feminine mysteries which Cygnus has no desire to be included him, but he now wishes that he knew these crucial facts. Surely the Black library has a book on this, but this is no time to run up there to check. What if something happens while he's gone? He needs to be here for his wife and child.

Minutes crawl by, with a few more grunts and murmurs from the bedroom. Cygnus paces to the end of the corridor, then spins on his heal and walks back to the staircase, then back and forth three more times. Four. Five. He reminds himself that he is lucky Druella's labour started on a Saturday and he's been able to spend all day here. For Bellatrix's birth he was allowed a day off work, but the birth of a second daughter did not warrant such generosity from the department, and by the time he got home Andromeda was three hours old. They had named her after the Aethiopian princess sacrificed to a sea monster- a more placid woman than the Amazonian warrior whom their oldest is named for, though little has it proved to be true. Both Cygnus' daughters are headstrong little girls, with a fieriness that Cygnus has not yet been able to dampen. The birth of a sibling should do them good- they'll see that Druella's pride in her newborn is something to aspire to. A home-maker, a mother, and a woman with a strong pureblood marriage and loyalty to her House and husband. If Cygnus' daughters achieve that, he will have done his job as their father well.

"Mr Black?" asks a tentative voice. Cygnus wheels around. The Healer is at the bedroom door, looking out at him.

"What? What is it?" he demands, bolting down the corridor towards her.

"The baby is born,"

He didn't hear it cry. Cygnus panics, elbows the Healer out of the way and rushes through the door. His wife is sitting up in bed holding a bundle of swaddling to her chest.

"Druella?" he breathes, striding over to her.

"My darling". Her voice is weak. Cygnus drops to his knees beside her to see the baby wrapped in the blanket, suckling on her breast. It is small and pink, with a fluff of light hair on its head. His third child. Cygnus kisses the infant's soft forehead, then Druella's clammy one.

"Is it healthy? I didn't hear it cry," he demands.

"Yes. Yes, she's perfect,"

"She?" he repeats, looking into his wife's eyes. There's a flicker of worry in hers.

"It's a girl, Cygnus," she murmurs.

"Oh,"

"That's… that's alright, isn't it?"

She is exhausted and sweaty, and he hastily answers, "Yes, of course it's alright. It's wonderful,"

Druella starts to tell him that the baby did cry, just quietly, but Cygnus cuts her off with a kiss. He wraps an arm around her and strokes the baby's fuzzy hair. Bellatrix and Andy have dark hair like Druella, but the wisps on this baby's crown are blondish, like Cygnus' mother. This child's face looks less squashed and scarlet and goblin than he remembers Bella and Andromeda's looking when they were first born. She is beautiful, and Cygnus can tell that she is strong by the way she is feeding hungrily. She is a perfect healthy baby. But she is a girl. Cygnus had tried not to get his hopes up for a boy but it had been difficult not to. After two daughters, wasn't it only reasonable that a man should want a son? Alphard is wrong in the head and Walburga and Orion have no children. It is Cygnus' duty, therefore, to pass on the Black name. How can he do that if his marriage produces only daughters? He wants a boy, his boy, to teach and lead and help to grow into a man, like his father did for him. A son to follow in his footsteps. There is more to worry about with girls, too. Cygnus is not angry at Druella, it is not her fault, but…if only, if _only_ the placid infant in her arms had been a son.

"She's exquisite, isn't she?" breathes Druella.

"Yes," he mumbles, then remembers where he is and what's just happened. "What about you? Are you alright?"

"I will be. It was…a long day,"

"Do you want to rest? I can go downstairs if you'd prefer," he offers, and tells himself that it is not to get away from facing the disappointment of his child's sex.

Druella shakes her head. "Would you like to hold her?"

The baby, Cygnus notices, has stopped feeding and is staring up at its- her- mother with huge eyes, eyes which are neither Rosier nor Black. What a strange ethereal creature she is.

"Yes," Cygnus mumbles again, and Druella hands the bundle over, reminding him to be careful with the child's head. Cygnus rests the baby's neck and head in the crook of his elbow, using his other arm to steady her body, getting used to the weight in his arms. She feels fragile and warm. Comfortable. Her little pink mouth is closed and her saucer eyes gaze upwards, past Cygnus and up to the bedroom ceiling. And suddenly, watching her, Cygnus is overcome with breathlessness, delight, devotion, pride, awe. His child. A new human made from his and Druella's love. Darling Druella, who is now smiling at him as she wipes her tired eyes. Cygnus beams back. What a gift she's given him; a third beautiful Black baby. More of the frustration and satisfaction his daughters already bring him. Perhaps this child will settle the older two; she'll be their baby, they'll be her heroines. It won't be the same as Cygnus himself being a hero to his son, but he will be able to watch with pride as his children become a trio of friends. Three healthy girls. Cygnus has nothing to be disappointed about that. The infant squirms in his arms and Cygnus turns his smile towards her. Tiny and strong. She is a girl- but that, Cygnus decides as he gazes at her, is enough.


	4. Four For A Boy

Teddy Remus Lupin. Named for his grandfather, who died a month before he was born, and his father, who was killed a month after. He was born in the afternoon when it was chilly and raining outside, and he cried loudly when pushed into life. He took to the breast hungrily, and it was a few tearful minutes later when his father asked if he was imagining things, or was the baby's hair changing colour?

Teddy's dad wouldn't have admitted it to anybody, but he wanted a girl. More than anything Remus wanted a healthy baby who wasn't a werewolf, but if he had the choice he would have chosen to have a daughter. A son would have been too much like him, and Remus spent most of the pregnancy hoping that his child wouldn't be like he was. But the baby was male, and Dora and Andromeda insisted that his face looked just like Remus'. They probably thought that they were being truthful and generous. Generosity from Andromeda was rare, so Remus tried to look touched and grateful. Perhaps, he hoped, it was a genetic compromise; the child could look like him, think like him, like the things he liked- as long as it didn't have his blood. Anything but that. Mercifully, Teddy didn't have the lycanthropic curse in his veins, and mercifully his father found that out before he died.

What Remus Lupin didn't live long enough to find out was that his son was grew into a boy much like he had been; thoughtful, bookish and artistic. For the most part the child _did_ look, think and act like him. If Remus had lived he would have been proud of his son, of course. But as he never told anybody that he wanted a girl, nobody wonders if Remus would have been pleased to know how much his son is like him. There is nobody to wonder if he would feel that the boy is his redemption.

* * *

For Andromeda, having a grandson is a relief. She'd grown up between two squabbling sisters; Bella the bossy eldest and Narcissa the spoilt baby. Mother liked to dress the three of them in matching dresses with sashes and bows. Cissy was the only one who enjoyed it, whereas Bella and Andy would yank their bows out as soon as they could and "accidentally lose" their satin sashes. For the first few years the nursery was full of dolls, pink, princesses and a toy kitchen, until Bella kicked up enough of a fuss to be given a train set and a box of toy soldiers one Christmas. They were intensely competitive in lessons; before Hogwarts Andromeda would desperately try to read the books that Bella was, and when they were at school together Andromeda would compare her end-of-year exam results to the ones Bella had received two years earlier. Cissy was less academic but her looks drew attention, and Andromeda would have been lying if she said she wasn't jealous. Then Ted came along, and the attention Narcissa got didn't seem important any more. Andy never found out if she'd beaten Cissy at NEWTs because by the time Narcissa finished school Andromeda and Ted had eloped to Manchester. Andy never saw her sisters again.

Marriage wasn't the end of it though, because soon after the wedding Andromeda found herself pregnant. The pregnancy was difficult and the labour was long, and when the Healer gently handed the wailing baby into Andromeda's arms, Andromeda was so exhausted and bewildered that she passed the child straight to Ted. In hindsight that was an omen for all of their daughter's childhood; Ted was hands-on, affectionate and seemed to naturally know what he was doing, and Andromeda was flummoxed and waspish. She went back to work four months after the baby was born, and Ted to raised their daughter for the first years. Andromeda supposed that as the working parent she should have been Fun Mummy- coming home in the evening and not having to deal with constantly entertaining and disciplining. But in event she was the bad cop. She found herself constantly barking, "Fingers out of mouth, Nymphadora", "Sit up straight, won't you?", "Fingers out of the biscuit tin, Nymphadora", "Be quiet and stop fidgeting", "Fingers out of nose, Nymphadora". Despite her multicoloured hair and her jeans and Ted's accent, Nymphadora reminded Andy too much of herself and her sisters as children. Nymphadora was a funny, talkative, sparky child and Andromeda liked being part of a family, but she couldn't help the feeling of resentment towards her daughter. It was hardly a surprise when Nymphadora came home from Hogwarts for Christmas in her first-year and announced that everybody at school called her by her Muggle-born father's surname. She grew up, applied to the Auror academy, was trained by the bravest of them all, fought the Dark Lord and died alongside her husband and friends, but not before she had birthed a baby. Andromeda was left to the raise the child (with many helping hands from the Weasleys and the rest of Nymphadora's friends) and perhaps the one small mercy is that he's a boy. Teddy may have his grandfather's name but he is his own person. He doesn't feel like a shadow of Andromeda's childhood, nor does she see him as a new version of his mother. She doesn't resent him for being too like Bella, Cissy or Nymphadora. He is her Teddy. He loves his toy hippogriffs and his parliament of cuddly owls. He tips his head back when he laughs, which is often. Andromeda's just started to teach him how to write his name, and he clumsily grasps the pencil as he traces out wobbly letters. _Teddy R Lupin_. Her grandson. Her boy.

* * *

Harry Potter is an orphan boy. Teddy Lupin is an orphan boy. They are not alike. Harry had had nothing of Lily and James' for ten years, so every photo, object and anecdote was like gold-dust. For Teddy he's ensured that memories of his parents are everywhere. Andromeda insisted too and Hermione's been a big help, organising stuff and writing letters. Harry recalled being mesmerized by Lily's handwriting in the letter she'd written to Sirius; physical proof that she'd moved and thought. Perhaps it was all the more special for being an ordinary letter and not something magical. It hasn't been hard to find examples of Lupin's handwriting; he was a big list-maker and Harry's got his notebooks in the attic, plus his drawings. Teddy's eight now and good at art so he likes seeing his father's sketches. Most letters written during the war had been burned upon reading as a precaution, but Molly and Arthur had kept the note Lupin had written to tell them of Teddy's birth. It's hastily-written, with Lupin's already messy handwriting wilder than usual. It means the world to Teddy.

Harry and Hermione wrote to their classmates asking for their memories of Professor Lupin's Defense lessons ("As if Lavender's Boggart was an eyeball," Ginny scoffed) and Andromeda found his lesson plans. Harry could pull strings at the Ministry to get hold of Tonks' Auror application and paperwork- Ginny's good at reading a mission report and re-telling it as a story for Teddy. Plenty of Order members had lots of memories of Lupin and Tonks and a few photos of them together, although not as many as Harry and would have liked. When he remarked on this, Andromeda, who had taken most of the photos and kept the originals, snapped, "Well, there wasn't much time for cosy photoshoots that year, was there?". There's a Professor McGonagall-ish mildly terrifying authority about Andromeda and, cowed, Harry mumbled an agreement.

Harry throws himself into this physical, commemorative side of godfatherhood because the other aspects are more complicated. Being a father figure to a baby boy when Harry was still a boy himself was bewildering, although Harry reckons he's got better now that he's got a son of his own and another baby on the way. There is, Hermione sometimes says, a nice cycle to it; Harry being Teddy's father figure when that's what Lupin was to him. Harry thinks that's a bit soppy, but she does have a point. But Lupin was always easy to talk to whereas sometimes Harry struggles with Teddy. James is a toddler and Harry likes sounding out words with him as he learns to speak, but Teddy's a chirpy, chatty eight-year-old and soo much has changed since Harry was that age that he doesn't know how to hold a conversation about toys or imaginary friends.

What worries Harry most, however, is that Teddy's starting Hogwarts in a few years- surely he'll want to know about his dad at school. Andromeda's got Tonks' uniform and lots of photos of her as a kid, but Harry knows that for a boy there's something reassuring about knowing his _dad_ specifically was going through the same things. James' schooldays were the part of his life that Harry was and _is_ most curious about. The _is_ is uncomfortable because when it comes to the Marauders, Harry is Teddy's equal, not his father figure. He's finding out things along with Teddy. Once, Harry was the boy with questions and Lupin was the man with the answers. Now it's Teddy whose asking questions but Harry doesn't know the answers. He doesn't know how Remus met Sirius and James, he doesn't know how the Marauders found out Lupin was a werewolf, he doesn't know whose idea the map was. There's going to be more of questions like that once Teddy starts school. Harry barely knows anything about Lupin's life between James and Lily's deaths and when he came to teach at Hogwarts. Sometimes he asks himself how he could count himself as close to Lupin, how Lupin could have made him godfather to his son, when Harry only knew him for five years. So when Teddy asks questions, Harry can only reply sadly, "I'm sorry, little man. I wish I knew".

 _For me as well as you,_ he adds in his head _._ And then he feels guilty for not knowing, guilty that he selfishly wishes he had the answers too and, most of all, guilty that he's the reason Teddy's parents are dead.

Harry Potter is an orphan boy. Teddy Lupin is an orphan boy. They are too alike.

* * *

He's not like other boys. Other boys are rough and cocky and always showing off for each other. Teddy's more mature. He and Vic have been friends since they were tiny so they pretty much grew up together. He's in fifth year now; she's in third. Most boys double-take when they first see Vic, but Teddy's known her so long that Vic doesn't think he's ever really noticed her looks (sometimes she wishes he did). Teddy's got a gentler sense of humour; he's quirky and witty, whereas Vic's more barbed. Most boys don't like that, but Vic's met Teddy's grandmother so she knows that he can handle it. Most boys cannot change their appearance at will. And if they could, most boys would make themselves the handsomest boy in school so they could get girls. Teddy doesn't. He uses his morph powers to do crazy things to his hair and to make people laugh.

He isn't like other boys because of everything that's happened to him. Most boys are not orphans. Most boys were not raised by their grandmothers. Most boys do not get more stares and questions than a part-Veela Weasley whose parents were in the Order (Vic knows this from experience). The questions make him weary and he gets upset when kids ask where in the castle his Mum and Dad died. A couple of times they've been alone together and talking about it and he's got tearful. He always cries silently. Once he muttered, "Sometimes they make me so angry,"

"Who?" Vic asked, "Kids asking questions?"

"No," he answered hoarsely, "Mum and Dad."

Most boys' fathers were not werewolves. Vic gets the odd howl or wolf-whistle because of Dad, but Teddy gets loads more. Vic's heard people taunt him by asking when next full moon is. They call him "Wolfie", "Mongrel", "The Werewolf Prefect". Vic's seen younger kids scuttle fearfully out of his way. Vic gives as good as she gets back to anybody who says anything to her about her dad, and she wants to do the same when it happens to Teddy, but he always hisses, "No". He insists that it's better to ignore it. Vic tells him that's daft, and he puts his hands on his shoulders and tells her that it's his problem, not hers.

"But both of our dads-"

"It's different," he says sharply, "Don't fight my battles for me, Vic".

Most boys would argue with her further, but Teddy walks away. All of Vic's friends- boys and girls- act cold for a day or so after arguing, but Teddy acts as if nothing's happened and the next day will be back chatting and joking with her. Vic likes to think that being with him makes her more mature too. It's definitely a more grown-up friendship because although they joke, chat about music and moan about homework, they have a…a shared understanding of everything that makes them different. Their families and their fathers' bites and their mothers' magical looks. Being the oldest of the post-war generation with a direct link to Harry Potter. Being children of the Order.

Most boys graffiti cocks, boobs and skulls all over parchment and desks and people's arms. Teddy draws animals and trees. He's drawn Vic a couple of times, which she loves. Most boys sound petty when they swear, but with Teddy it's more natural. He swears because he's cross or for emphasis, not because he's trying to look tough. He likes Quidditch but he isn't as fanatical as the boys Vic is friends with. He's not uppity about being a prefect like the other Prefect boys are.

Vic doesn't know any boys who get chocolate all over their face like Teddy does when he eats it. She hasn't met any boys apart from Teddy who want to be Healers when they leave school. Nobody else makes her think like Teddy does; he's always got an interesting way of looking at things. Vic doesn't know anyone who dresses like Teddy does- most boys wouldn't be seen dead wearing girls' jeans. Most boys don't carry a tatty paperback in their pocket at all times. Most boys don't think that _Where The Warlock Wanders_ is the best Wizheds song. Most boys aren't constantly stubbing their toes. Most boys aren't like Teddy Lupin. There is, Vic thinks, smiling as the turquoise-topped figure waves a hand and strolls across the great hall towards her carrying a stack of toast, only one of Teddy Lupin.


	5. Five For Silver

Narcissa has always been pale. Mama and Papa's picture-book princess. Bonny and fair. As a child she relished being different to her dark-haired, severe-featured sisters and mother. Everybody told her how beautiful she was, and she liked to boast that her looks had made Mama and Papa break the Black tradition of naming children after constellations. But despite being the one _without_ the star name, there's always been something shining about Narcissa's appearance. Not just pale but glowing white. Not simply blonde but shimmering.

But this hair, Narcissa ponders as she holds the strand out in front of the mirror, is different. This isn't the shiny white-blonde that Narcissa has such pride in. This hair is a dull pencil-led colour. It is grey. If Bella was here she would tease Cissy for the tear which now tracks its way down her cheek. Bellatrix has always been impatient about Narcissa's vanity (Cissy used to assume smugly that it was because she was jealous, although in truth Bellatrix had never had much interest in beauty). Vanity, however, is not the reason Narcissa is crying. The tear and the others that follow aren't for her hair, youth or beauty. They are for her normalcy and security, her husband and son. Her life. Her family. Her Draco, blundering down the mad path that the Dark Lord makes him walk. A schoolboy cannot assassinate his headmaster. A teenager who passed his OWLs weeks ago stands no chance against the wizard who defeated Gellert Grindelwald. Lucius is locked away and Narcissa is powerless to help either of them. A few weeks ago she had begged Snape to help Draco; he'd made an unbreakable vow. Bella is scornful and suspicious towards the potions master but Narcissa had little choice left. Severus is Draco's only hope. Dumbledore is suspicious of him too, something the Dark Lord finds amusing as the headmaster's trusting tendencies are his greatest weakness. This is true, but Dumbledore is an incredibly powerful man: politically, historically, in experience and skill and cleverness. Draco has been set up to fail and the Dark Lord's wrath will fall on them all.

Draco had changed so much over the Summer. He'd been a late developer, still a boy when Vincent and Gregory had long since morphed into men. But Draco's growing now, he's taller than Narcissa. His voice had finally broken during the previous school term so the Draco who said, "Hello, Mum," as he stepped off the train hadn't sounded like her son. A few weeks later, after his meeting with the Dark Lord, he'd got his hair cut, shearing off the last of his white-blond waves, Narcissa's waves. His boyish voice and hair are gone and, leaving in his place an intense, frightened, steely boy who is nothing like Narcissa's Draco. His short hair looks fuzzy but the few times Narcissa has ruffled it or kissed his head it's felt prickly, like his temperament these days. Lucius has always been the disciplinarian so Narcissa doesn't know what to say to Draco's pugnaciousness. Shopping in Diagon Alley a few weeks after he'd taken the Mark, Draco been scornful towards her and had eventually slipped away. Cissy had been worried, but when Draco re-appeared at her side he'd shrugged and said that he'd been with Zabini and the Greengrass girls, and Narcissa mustn't have heard when he told her where he was going. She'd scolded him but Draco shrugged. Narcissa could tell that he'd have strutted and preened in front of his friends, the kind of swaggering bravado she's always found so attractive in Lucius. She'd done the same that day, hadn't she? Acting politely to those who deserved it and scornfully towards those who didn't, making necessary small-talk but shutting down any hint of a mention about what's happened to Lucius, buying Draco his new robes and books as if everything was normal. The Malfoys know how to act.

Bella, Roddy and Rabastan have been living at Malfoy Manor since their escape from prison, and over the Summer Draco had spent more time with his uncles. He's always been a Mama's boy so Narcissa struggled not to take it personally. She tried to tell herself that he needed his uncles because he was missing his father, but of course it was more than that. Draco was one of them now. The day he had taken the Mark had been even worse than the day Lucius had been taken away. It was a couple weeks after he'd been home for the Summer, before their trip to Diagon Alley. Draco had dressed all in black- he thought it made him look grown-up but to Narcissa he looked like he was dressing for a funeral.

"I don't want you to come," he told Narcissa coldly.

"Draco-"

"No. You're not coming,"

"It's alright, Narcissa," Rabastan said gently, "I'll be there,"

"I'm his mother!"

"I can make my own decisions," Draco snapped, "I want Uncle Roddy and Uncle Rabatsan there but not you two,"

He didn't want Bellatrix there because he felt intimidated by her. He didn't want Narcissa there because he felt superior to her. He'd been so proud, and now he evidently believes himself to be above his mother. But he's also overwhelmed and afraid. When the Lestrange boys brought Draco home that evening he'd looked exhausted and pale. As Narcissa had refused to take the Mark, she was only allowed to watch from a distance on the evening, years ago, when her husband and sister were given their Marks. Bellatrix had breezed forward and thrown a vicious grin in Cissy's direction before turning to the Dark Lord. Even from a distance Narcissa had seen her sister's chest heaving with fervour. Bella had thrust her arm out firmly, and screamed and cackled as the Mark was branded on. Cissy couldn't tell if her sister was feeling pleasure or pain. When it was Lucius' turn he'd stood completely still. Jaw set, eyes fierce. Narcissa was in awe of his fortitude. When they'd got home she'd asked if he wanted the Mark tending to; she liked looking after him. Lucius had let her put a cold flannel around the reddened Mark and Narcissa had run her fingers through his silky hair and told him how brave he'd been, how proud she was of him. She should be able to care for Draco in the same way, but he won't let her. When Rabastan had brought him home Narcissa had hurried down the stairs to meet them but Draco brushed her off and went upstairs to his room. She'd noticed, though, that the skin on his bottom lip was chewed raw. Narcissa couldn't help but imagine Draco nibbling on his lip with nerves, or biting down on it to stop himself yelping in pain. Is that what he'd done? Or had he had his father's Stoicism? Narcissa doesn't know how her son would have reacted, and that hurts almost as much as the thought of Draco in pain.

Narcissa had always got on well with Roddy and Rabastan, the latter particularly. He's sweet, and he'd doted on Draco when he was baby. It's a relief to have them both out of prison and safe. But having them at home is starting to feel cloying. The Lestranges have always been outdoorsy types and Narcissa doesn't blame them for wanting to run and ride in the fresh air after fifteen years' incarceration- if only they remembered to shut the gate and change their boots when they come inside. Narcissa's not used to living with sweaty, rugged men like Rabastan and Roddy. There's a stable at Malfoy Manor which, when Cissy was first married, was home to Lucius brown mare, D'Argo. Lucius had sold her a few years ago and the stable had been left empty, until this June when the Lestrange boys had stolen themselves a pair of horses from a Muggle farm. Rodoplphus and Rabastan take good care of the horses, but Narcissa didn't ask for more animals around. Moreover, three extra house guests and two horses cost money, and with Lucius in prison...Narcissa hates to admit it even to herself, but finances are a concern. As escaped prisoners, the Lestranges' monetary position is somewhat compromised, and none of them can get a job. Narcissa's never had to worry about money before. How shameful it is on both their Houses. She's losing control in and of her home. Everything has changed so much and keeps changing for the worse, and Narcissa is powerless to do anything about it. Her control and security are ebbing away. She is drowning.

Her husband is locked up, and Narcissa doesn't know when, if ever, she will see him again, or what will be happening when she does. After the verdict and sentencing, a Ministry guard had accompanied them home (Bellatrix and the Lestrange boys had made themselves scarce for the day). Narcissa had stood with her husband in the drawing room and Lucius, who had always been so assured, looked lost. He didn't know what to say. Narcissa wanted to tell him that surely the life sentence he'd been given would not transpire to be so. The Dark Lord has control of the Dementors; they'll free him like they did Bella and the others. But that's merely a hope- the Dark Lord had been so angry at Lucius. Will he help him now? And what will Lucius be like when he comes out? Rabidly caricatured like Bellatrix has become? Throughout everything Lucius has been a strong and loving husband. If that changes it will be the most unbearable thing of all. Perhaps, Narcissa thinks tearfully, the Dark Lord will break Lucius out of prison for him to witness Draco fail at his task. To watch the Dark Lord kill their son.

And then there's Bella. Narcissa has always been afraid of her big sister and now it seems that Bellatrix is truly unhinged. Her fifteen years in prison have made her more mercurial and hysterical than ever. She refuses to admit that the Dark Lord's plan for Draco is cruelty, insanity, impossibility. Bellatrix had taught Draco Occlumency over the Summer, barking at him that he'd need it.

"He's only a boy," Cissy insisted one evening when she'd managed to get her sister alone, "Be gentle with him,"

"Of course," Bella agreed in a distracted tone, "But you want him taught properly, don't you?"

Narcissa didn't want him taught at all.

"I'll be strict but fair," shrugged Bella, which meant nothing.

"I mean it. If you lay a finger on him-"

"Like his father does?"

Narcissa blanched, "What do you mean?"

Bellatrix looked at her shrewdly, "Draco will be a good Occlumens. He's used to hiding things from you,"

"Lucius has never hit our son," Cissy snapped, stung, "You've been locked up for most of Draco's life, you don't know a thing about our family,"

Bellatrix's taunts made Narcissa even more nervous about leaving Draco alone with her. She loitered outside the drawing room during their practice sessions. Bella has been stern but not cruel and Draco was a fast learner. Clever boy, Narcissa thought proudly. But Bellatrix's teasing rankled. In fifteen years Narcissa had got used to being an only child so her big sister's re-appearance, in this way, a caricature of her calculated girlhood snideness, is jarring. It's not as terrifying as Bellatrix's fanaticism and unpredictability, but it's more personal and unsettling. Yet another way Cissy has lost control.

Narcissa slams the hairbrush down onto the dressing table. _No_. She will _not_ be defeated by a single grey hair. She will not give in to this loss of control, however small it is. No more. She will straighten her back, grit her teeth and thrust out her strong Black jaw. She will perform like a Malfoy. She will stop allowing the Lestrange boys to treat her home like a hotel. She will not rise to the bait of Bellatrix' ridicule any longer. She will be the man of the house while Lucius is absent. She will be strong for her husband and son. And, Narcissa realises suddenly, there _is_ something she can do to help Draco. She can write to Snape. She'll send him a brief note inquiring how he is and asking after Hogwarts news- people know that they are friends so nobody will think anything of it. Except for Severus. He will know that Narcissa is thinking of him and his Vow. He'll be reminded that he should be afraid.

Narcissa holds the strand of hair out again. This colour is not a sign of age or vulnerability. This hair, and the others of the same colour that will inevitably follow, show her courage and integrity. This hair is not grey, Narcissa decides. It is like the rest of her; shimmering and beautiful. Special. Bold. This hair is silver.


	6. Six For Gold

He's never been more grateful for the fact that Mother is a hoarder. Her bedroom cabinet is full of trinkets and jewelry that Regulus has never seen Mother take out, let alone wear. But they are the family's so they must be treasured.

When Regulus realised that he would need a decoy locket, he'd considered whether to steal a family locket or try to buy one. The former, he theorised, would go unnoticed for longer. Unfortunately the Blacks are rather well-known and if Mother asked Borgin if Regulus had been by recently, and Borgin remembered selling him a locket, Mother might start to come up with ideas. Better to steal something from her collection, which she's unlikely to check for months, especially in the panic of Regulus' disappearance. He feels guilty about stealing from his family, but sacrifices must be made to stop the Dark Lord's madness. A stolen locket will not matter when he is dead.

Regulus is kneeling on the plush blue carpet, trying to find a locket that looks similar enough to the real version to act as a decoy. The Dark Lord has already tested the cave's defenses so Regulus doubts that he'll do so again soon. That makes finding a decoy easier as the second locket doesn't have to be identical to the Horcrux, just a similar size and gold colour. And the Blacks, Regulus thinks, looking down at the cabinet shelf, have always loved gold. His family are like magpies. There are earrings and necklaces, bracelets and rings, manacles and brooches. Mother and Grandmama had shown Regulus this collection several times before, most recently a few months after Sirius ran away. The implication- _you are going to inherit this now, Regulus_ \- was unspoken but clear. In a way, he supposes, he's only taking what's his a few years early. And in a more important way it will never be his because he is going to die. Regulus has made his decision and his decision will end in his death. There are certain characteristics which are undeniably Black, and conviction is one of them. For all Sirius' loathing of their family, he was full of Black conviction and liked to tell Regulus how much he was lacking.

"You're weak, that's the thing," he'd drawl, legs dangling off the arm of the sofa, "You're a wimp. You haven't got the brains or the balls to get anywhere. You'll let everybody down and then we'll see how special they all think you are,"

Regulus wanted to tell Sirius that Sirius was just jealous, but there was something intimidating about his big brother's casually callous tone. Regulus would almost prefer Sirius to be hitting him. His big brother was convinced that their parents worshipped the ground Regulus walked on, but Mother got frustrated at Regulus sometimes.

"Have a bit of backbone," she used to chide him, or "Yes, darling, but speak up. Say it like you mean it". He'd been an indecisive child and Mother had little patience for that. For years she often quoted, "Screw your courage to the sticking place," at him, until Uncle Cygnus told her that it was a line from a Muggle story where witches were withered and evil.

Well, Regulus has found his conviction now. He will go back to that cave with Kreacher, take the locket and order Kreacher to destroy it. And then he will be dragged into the water to down. He will prove his mettle even only to himself. He will die with conviction, like a Black.

...but he is still going to die. RAB, 1961-1979. He will not finish his teenage years. He will not get a job, he will not inherit this house or anything in it. He will not marry and pass his name on to his children. He won't teach his son chess like his father taught him, he won't stroke his daughter's long dark hair. He will not watch or play another Quidditch match. He won't eat another trifle or dance to Celestina Warbeck again. Regulus has planned to see his friends once more before he dies. They're going for a drink in Diagon Alley on Thursday. He'll walk there- it isn't far from Grimmauld Place and he wants one last stroll through London. Regulus has never much liked the city, which is too crowded and dirty for his liking. He prefers the seclusion and clear air of Scotland. But knowing that oneself is going to die does things to perspective so Regulus wants a final walk down Islington Road. The friends he's seeing are Monty, Octavia and Helen from school. They're his real friends since he was eleven, not the Death Eater colleagues he's picked up in the last year. He'll miss them too, but not as much as his school friends. He will buy the three of them a Firewhiskey, and a meal, and say it is his treat. In reality it will be his goodbye.

Truthfully, Regulus is ashamed to admit that he's less afraid of any of this than he is of dying itself. Being dead and not being able to do the things he enjoys or see the people he loves ever again is difficult to imagine. Isn't the point of death that it's the unknown? Which is scary, but not as scary as the idea of being drowned by Inferi. The thought of it keeps making Regulus think of a long-forgotten incident on holiday when he was a little boy. Regulus was six, perhaps seven, and Sirius eight or nine. They'd gone on holiday with their cousins to visit Aunt Druella's Rosier relatives in Auvergne. The grounds were three square miles of French countryside with fields, a vineyard and a lake. One day Regulus, Sirius and their cousins had gone down to the lake to go swimming. Sirius charged across the field and through the trees to the water, bashing nettles and dandelions with a stick. When Regulus and his cousins caught up with him, Andy, Bella and Cissy had gone into the trees to change into their swimming costumes.

"And don't you dare spy on us!" Andromeda snarled to Sirius.

Sirius poked his tongue out at her and pulled Regulus onto the wooden jetty which stuck out into the middle of the lake. Regulus' big brother whipped off his shirt, kicked his shoes and socks off and began unbuttoning his trousers.

"Well, come on," he snapped impatiently.

"Oh," Regulus mumbled. He undid his stiff collar and as he was tugging his shirt over his head, a hard shove slammed against his back, making him lurch forward. Regulus was yelping when he hit the surface so he got a mouthful of muddy lakewater. It was the shock of the cold, rather than the temperature itself, which made him freeze with panic. His shirt was over his face so he couldn't work out which way was up and which down. The clothes were getting heavy with water and Regulus' arms were caught in his shirtsleeves so he couldn't wrestle out. He couldn't see, he couldn't think, he couldn't move. Realisation hit, and then terror, which only paralysed him more. He could feel weeds licking his limbs. If he'd been able to move, the sliminess would have made him shudder.

-And then something was yanking his elbow and Regulus was shooting upwards. His he felt his face crash through the water's surface. Air. Light. Breath. Water dribbled out of Regulus' mouth as he gulped for oxygen. Craning round, Regulus realised that a hand was hauling him out of the lake. His eyes followed the hand up to an arm, shoulders and face. It was Andy. She was half-soaked with a weed splattered across her face, leaning down to grip Regulus' shoulder with one arm, while the other was under his armpit. Regulus kicked to help her lift him out, and Andy hoisted him up onto the jetty. Regulus collapsed on the warm wooden boards, gasping. When he glanced up he saw that his brother and his other two cousins were leaning over them, watching. Andromeda was on her knees, panting like he was. She peeled the weed off her face and tossed it back into the lake. Bellatrix glared at Sirius, grabbed him by the ear and marched him away, crowing that she was going to tell their parents what he'd done. Cissy wrapped a towel around Regulus' shoulders, scooped him up like a baby and carried him back to the grass while murmuring soothingly.

Regulus hasn't thought about the incident in years, but Kreacher's story made him remember. And more than the cold, the darkness, the weeds, the panic, the heaviness of his clothes and the taste of slimy water in his mouth, Regulus remembers Andromeda's hand. Pale and firm on his arm. Dragging him. That's what the Inferi will look like in the lake, except instead of steering him upwards towards the light, the hand will haul him down further into the water.

Regulus wipes his face on his sleeve and looks back into the cabinet. At first glance he can see two lockets. One is plain gold and the other has a pair of birds engraved on it in silver. The plain gold one will do, Regulus thinks, picking it up to weigh in his hand. He lays it beside the cabinet and opens another drawer. This one is full of pearl earrings, with a couple of brooches tucked in alongside them. Well, that's no use. Regulus frowns and shuts the drawer.

* * *

By the time he's searched through all five drawers, he's got six lockets on the floor beside him. He picks them up one by one, seeing how heavy they feel, examining the clasp, holding them up to the light to check how the gold glints. Regulus tries to block out the thought of not catching another Snitch and the memory of Andy's hand, but they sneak unhelpfully through into his brain. He's never been good at compartmentalising. Which is ironic, because all this is about compartments; the Horcruxes hidden away. Splinters of the Dark Lord's soul. Regulus shivers. _That_ is why he must do this. The Dark Lord's scheme is insanity in the most sickening way. He's conned his followers into believing that together they are pursing purity and power. Regulus' discovery proves that his fellow Death Eaters are merely tools for the Dark Lord to use as he chases his own inhumanity and immortality. He may be making himself invincible to death, but he isn't impervious to hubris, carelessness, and a teenage boy who has worked out his plan and has the tenacity to stop him. Regulus' only hope is that his parents are dead before the Dark Lord finds out what he's done. Sirius can go into hiding, but Mother and Father will bear the brunt of the Dark Lord's wrath. Hopefully it will be years before the Dark Lord returns to the lake to check his Horcrux protections, long enough for Mother and Father to be dead and long after Regulus has become an Inferi. At the thought, Regulus' hand clenches convulsively around the locket in his palm. Yes, he knows instinctively, this is the one. This is the locket he will use. Gold glints between Regulus' fingers like a caught Snitch. It's the last locket he found in the jewelry cabinet. It's heavy and has a long chain, which Regulus now slips over his neck as he tucks the locket under his shirt. He'll hide it there for the next few days while he writes his note and makes his final preparations.

Regulus carefully replaces the other lockets in their drawers, shuts the cabinet and gets to his feet. His reflection looks back at him from Mother's dressing-table mirror. Neat, pinched, scrawny, high cheekbones and big teeth, the whisper of a moustache on his top lip. Regulus tries to stuff away the thought that he won't live long enough to grow a proper one. He shouldn't think of that. He has a job to do. Regulus meets his eyes in the mirror, straightens his cuffs and fixes his collar, brushing the locket chain with his fingers as he does. This is the boy- no, the man- who will destroy the Dark Lord's Horcrux. Who will show his courage and conviction at last. Regulus nods curtly to his reflection, and walks out of the room.


	7. Seven For Secrets Never To Be Told

The first time Druella saw Cygnus, she thought him so handsome that she had to scurry back to her room to compose herself before being introduced to him.

Sometimes Bellatrix slipped sleeping draught into Rodolphus' tea.

Cyngus actually quite liked the colour pink.

Everybody was always asking Teddy if he missed his parents. He sometimes thought that if everyone had a grandmother like Andromeda, they'd know the answer.

Hermione Granger wrote to Narcissa a month after the battle to say thank you for lying about Harry Potter being dead. Narcissa burst into tears and threw the letter in the fire.

When Regulus a small boy he wanted to be a Beatle.

Draco was scared of Crabbe and Goyle.

Christiana Nott had an ermine coat, and when Andromeda was seven she had snuck down from the nursery with a pair of scissors and snipped all the fur off the collar.

When people asked Nymphadora what to show them she really looked like, the face she would morph into was a lie. There was no reason for this other than that it amused her

Orion always cheated at Gobstones.

Walburga Black was an alcoholic.

"Sirius, listen," urged James, "Lily and Harry and me need to go into hiding, and Dumbledore reckons a Fidelius charm should keep us safe for a while. Will you be our Secret-Keeper?".


	8. Eight For A Wish

When Draco Malfoy was five years old, he wished for a toy broomstick. He'd seen other boys play with them since they were toddlers but, his father insisted that they were dangerous. Five, Draco was sure, was old enough for a broomstick, and he told Daddy so for weeks before his birthday, and when he puffed out the candles on his birthday cake he wished that one of the presents in the wrapped boxes in the drawing room was a toy broomstick at last. The wish came true. When Draco was opening the boxes later, the biggest one, labelled _To Draco, love from Mummy and Daddy_ was a Euros Junior broomstick. Elated, Draco beamed a gappy smile at his parents, and spent the rest of the day whizzing around in the garden.

When Draco was six his wish didn't come true. Draco wished that his father wouldn't sell D’Argo, the family's chestnut mare. Mummy said that Draco would be big enough to learn to ride soon. But father had been considering selling the horse, and despite Draco's wish, a fortnight after his birthday D’Argo was boxed up and sent to the auction. "Never mind, you can borrow the Goyles' horse if you still want to learn,” Mummy had told him.

"Don't cry, Draco," his father had said, "It's done now". Although he looked just as unhappy as Draco felt.

On Draco’s ninth birthday he couldn’t decide between wishing for a telescope or a knight costume.

When Draco turned eleven he wished for a fun first year at Hogwarts. He already knew Gregory Goyle and wanted to make new friends and have adventures. Draco’s goal was to get onto the Quidditch team. He hoped to be top of the class and the brightest boy in Slytherin, but not a teacher's pet or a swot. He wished that he could be enough like Dad to make him proud, but different and unique and his own man. Most of all, Draco hoped that it would all be alright.

On the morning of his twelfth birthday Draco heard that Potter, Weasley and their girlfriend had been caught out of bed and up to something. Draco’s wish was that they'd all get expelled.

On Draco’s thirteenth birthday he was too old for wishes.

If he had made a wish on his sixteenth birthday, Draco would have wished for Pansy Parkinson to stop mooning over Theodore and start noticing _him_ instead.

That was only a year ago, Draco marvels, staring up at the canopy of his dormitory four-poster. What an idiot he'd been, what a child. Fixated on girls and Quidditch and bolstering his reputation in the Inquisitorial Squad. None of that matters anymore, and it was stupid that it ever had. School doesn't even matter now; he's scraping through with Acceptable-grade essays and 60% on tests. Professor Vector had asked Draco to stay behind after Arithmancy a couple of weeks ago and inquired if everything was alright. Draco had half-expected this- Vector can't keep her nose out of anybody's business, even students. It's pathetic- but he hadn't known what to say.

"Yes, Professor, I'm just busy with my other subjects," Draco managed to murmur.

"Professor McGonagall says she's had to give you three detentions this term alone," Vector pointed out. Why does she give a damn about _that?_ Why does she even _know?_ "That's not like you. I know things must be difficult at home at the-"

Draco's temper broke. He wanted to spit that Vector didn't have the first idea about what it was like at home. He wanted to snarl at her to shut up about his father. The growl almost blurted out before Draco could stop it, but he caught himself in time. _Stop. Think_. _Smile, be polite,_ Draco coaxed himself, and tried not to think about how polite smiles used to be automatic. He never used to need to remind himself.

"I'll work harder, Professor," he promised, "I've had other stuff on my mind but it's fine now. I'll do better from now on. Sorry, I've got to get to Potions," he said, and he'd fled from the room. It was all lies, of course- Draco hadn't had Potions; he'd rushed off to the Room of Requirement to examine the cabinet again. He hasn't worked harder or started doing better in Astronomy, and he can tell that Vector is still concerned. And most of all, everything wasn't and isn't fine. Draco's running out of patience, time and chances. Lying awake tonight, as he's so often found himself doing this year, Draco can admit to himself that necklace and the poison had been poor attempts to achieve his task. He was banking on a luck which hadn't appeared. Fool.

Draco rolls onto his side, looking over to where Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise and Theo are sleeping. In the morning they'll wake him up by jumping on his bed and whooping "Happy birthday!" while wrestling him and ruffling his hair. The five of them have done for each other on every birthday since second year, the childishness of it becoming enjoyably ironic as they get older. In the morning Draco will force himself to smile and join in with the roughhousing. It can't make anything worse.

When Draco can't sleep, his thoughts often wander to his Uncle Regulus, long dead, who joined the Death Eaters as a teenager and was killed for defecting. Father always used to speak scornfully of Uncle Regulus; he called him a traitor and a coward (although never in front of Mother, who had been close to him). Regulus lasted a few days before being killed for desertion, which Draco now realises was a lucky escape. Regulus didn't face a prison sentence, he avoided humiliation and his family stayed safe. The Dark Lord will not extend such luxuries to the Malfoys. The cabinet has been Draco’s backup plan in case his other ploys failed, and now it looks as if that will fail too. He can't fix it, _he can't fix it._ He's tried every spell and searched every cranny of the cupboard for a part that might have broken or been displaced. He's shifted it, stroked it and coaxed it and, in frustration, kicked and raged at the damn thing, pleading with it to work. After the rage come the tears- he cries so much these days, with only the ghost girl to comfort him. He's barely different from the six-year-old crying over his horse, Draco thinks angrily. That's the point though, isn't it- he's a kid. Draco’s spent so much of his school life acting like a grown-up and trying to be like his father, but now, with minutes to go before he turns seventeen, Draco feels more young and helpless than ever. He feels no thrill about coming of age, no pride. All there is is his task. If he dies in the process that'll pin the target on Mother and Father, and Draco can’t kill himself for the same reason. He can't back out and he barely knows how to go forwards. But he must. He's got to. This year, as Draco listens to the dormitory clock tick round to midnight, he closes his eyes and wishes that it could all be over.


	9. Nine For A Kiss

"Hello, Andy,"

Andromeda freezes in the library doorway. Her eldest sister is kneeling beside a bookshelf, frowning as she searches through it.

"What are you doing here?" Andy blurts. Bellatrix can't be here, _nobody_ is supposed to be here. Mother and Father are out at the theatre tonight, so Andy's had it in her plan for weeks that _this_ evening would be her time to pack and make her final arrangements. This is _the_ night, and her sister can't be here.

"Nice to see you too," responds Bella coolly, "I've come to fetch my Potions books. Didn't you hear me Floo in downstairs? I called upstairs for you,"

"I had the radio on," Andy shrugs.

"That disgusting Mudblood racket?" Bellatrix spits. Andromeda doesn't rise to the bait. "It must in my old bedroom," Bella continues, getting to her feet.

"No, don't go upstairs," Andromeda says hurriedly. Bella eyes her with suspicion and Andy lies, "Cissy took it when she went back to school,"

"Why would Narcissa need my Potions book?"

"She couldn't find hers, she reckons she might have lost it. You know what she's like,"

Bellatrix rolls her eyes and explains, "Rodolphus' horse cut its foot this morning. He's asked me to make an equine healing draught but I couldn't find the instructions at home,"

Bella has been married for a little over a year and it's clear to everybody except their parents that she has no patience with her husband. Andromeda sometimes wonders why Bellatrix, who has always had such an independent spirit, agreed to her arranged marriage. Andromeda wonders a lot of things about her sister.

"Can I borrow yours?" Bella asks.

"Yes. I'll fetch it for you," Andy says hastily, "Wait here,"

She dashes upstairs and into her bedroom. She'd left her bedroom door open and Bellatrix's old room is opposite, so if Bellatrix had come upstairs she'd have seen what Andy's up to. She'd see the trunk laid open on Andy's bedroom floor, with clothes and keepsakes piled neatly inside it. Andromeda leaps over the trunk to her bedroom bookshelf, runs her finger along her textbook shelf to find Advanced Potion Making, grabs it, jumps back over the trunk, clatters back downstairs to the library and thrusts the book into Bellatrix's hands.

"There you go. You can keep it, actually," she says breathlessly. Andromeda doesn't need her Potions book anymore, because tomorrow morning she will place a sealed envelope on the kitchen table, walk out of her parents' house and leave for good. She's been planning her departure for weeks- years, perhaps. She's lived two lives for too long and now the time has come to make her choice. Andy cannot pretend she will settle for a pureblood marriage like Bellatrix- she's heard her parents discussing Timothy Goyle recently- what a nice young man he is with such a good career ahead of him. Andy can't marry Timothy Goyle, or any man her parents suggest for her, because she cannot pretend that she isn't in love with Ted Tonks. It isn't schoolgirl infatuation, it isn't rebelling against her family, it isn't stringing along a smitten boy far beneath her rank. Perhaps it started out as any or all of those things at first; they _had_ been schoolchildren when they met, she fourteen and he a year younger. Both had landed detentions from Professor Geraldi and spent a grumpy afternoon polishing the desks in the Potions classroom. There was nothing else to do, so they'd started talking and, Andromeda thinks fondly, five and a half years later they haven't stopped. Teenage rebellion- well, yes, Andy can admit that that was part of the attraction of Ted at first. He was dark-skinned, a year younger, a Hufflepuff. A Mudblood. When he'd kissed her for the first time two years after that detention, and asked her to be his girlfriend, Andromeda had half wanted to keep it a secret. And the other half of her wanted to go everywhere holding Ted's hand, kiss him in the corridor, and tell everybody that this brown-skinned Muggle-born Manc was hers. See how you like _that,_ intentionally outrageous older sister. Ted's presence in her life would shock their parents more than _anything_ Bella had ever done. See how you like _that,_ beautiful baby sister who makes the boys gape. Perhaps that envy of Narcissa led was the reason Andromeda had toyed with Ted's affection the way she had back in those days. She'd had boyfriends before of course, but none that looked at her like Ted did; none who she felt this intoxicating power over. Was this what it was like to be Narcissa, Andy had wondered? Sometimes she'd see how far she could push Ted by flirting with another boy in front of him, pretending she didn't know Ted was watching, but secretly sneaking glances to see how he'd react. Andromeda and Ted both laugh at that now. It had been a thrill for Andy at the time, but it was all pretty stupid and Ted never rose to the bait as much as she'd hoped. Andromeda's deeply, truly in love with him now and being together is enough of a thrill. She's grown out of treating Ted coldly; she doesn't need to be cold with Ted. Ted is warmth. He hasn't asked her to marry him but Andy knows that it's an inevitability. There's no point pretending that her future lies anywhere else but in the arms of this sweet, scruffy boy with corkscrew curls.

But there's something else Andromeda can't pretend to ignore any longer. Something that's nothing to do with Ted, because he's not the only reason that Andy is leaving. Andromeda has to walk out of the front door tomorrow morning because she can no longer pretend that she's a part of this family. She can't spend any longer listening to her narrow-minded parents scorn anything Muggle. She can't keep her temper in check any more when any of them say "Mudblood". (How easily the word had tripped off her own childish tongue. Andy hadn't known until she arrived at Hogwarts that it was offensive- she'd thought it was just a word; the correct noun for people like Ted. Now it appals her that she ever spoke- or worse- thought that way). Andromeda cannot make excuses for her sisters any longer. She can't ignore that they're becoming increasingly enveloped in the Dark Lord's circle. Narcissa is still at school but Andy knows the people she is friends with and where they will go. And Bella; Bella standing in front of her holding Andromeda's old textbook. Bella her big sister, her first friend and, Andy grimaces to admit, her hero for longer than she'd like to admit. Bellatrix is heading further down this path towards the Dark Lord, dragging the Lestrange boys with her into the dark. If Andromeda were to stay, she would be allowing it to happen. She cannot be a bystander any more. She's meeting Ted at Euston at nine o'clock tomorrow morning; he's apparating down to fetch her and then they're heading North to his parents' house in Salford. Andy's nervous about that; she's only spoken to Ted's Muggle parents and his Muggle little brother a couple of times at King's Cross, and then it's only been a quick hello before her sisters and parents noticed (the smug excitement of flaunting Ted in front of Bella and Cissy hadn't lasted long). Andromeda can't help but worry that she'll blurt something silly or unintentionally rude to Ted's family. She's barely spoken to a Muggle before, so running away to live with them is throwing herself in at the deep end. Andy supposes that she'll meet Ted's big sister too. She's four years older than Ted and left school at her Muggle high school at fifteen to work in a hairdresser's. Perhaps, Andy's sometimes pondered, siblings was what she and Ted had first talked about, back in that first detention. They were both middle children, and everybody knew Andromeda's sisters of course. Now, in the Black library, Andromeda notes with a sinking feeling that they won't be her sisters after tomorrow. She's going to get burnt off the family tree, lose her inheritance and never be allowed back in the fold. Andy's bringing it on herself but it still hurts, and the thought of being without her sisters hurts more. Bellatrix and Cissy may be growing more different and more dangerous, but they are still Andromeda's sisters. Her playmates and rivals, her advisers and enemies, her first and best friends. When they'd waved Narcissa off from King's Cross at the start of last term, Andy had half-known that it was the last time she was going to see her. She's could tell then that time was running out to make a decision, to pick a side. She'd squeezed her baby sister tight and told her that she loved her.

With Bellatrix it's always been more complicated. They're closer in age than Andromeda is to Cissy, and closer as sisters too. Despite what plenty of people suspect, they get along, which makes it all so much harder. Andy often wishes she could hate her big sister, but all she can do is love her, and want her to change and to understand. Which is exactly what Bella wants of her.

Bellatrix herself is now looking at Andy with her arms folded, and suspicion in her lidded eyes. Andy knows that now is the time to say goodbye.

"Bella-" Andromeda begins, "I miss you." _I will miss you._

"Yes, I expect it must be boring here with Cissy at school," Bella answers. Andy nods, unsure what to say next. "You should visit Rodolphus and I more. Merlin knows _I_ get _bored_ of him," Bellatrix continues, sighing theatrically. She's always been one for theatrics.

"Yes, I will," Andy lies. She's torn between wanting to get rid of her sister as soon as possible, and wanting to keep her talking so that she has to stay longer.

Bellatrix smirks. "I miss you too, Andy". After all Andromeda's clarity and focus on what she must do, she feels her conviction crumble. It's the 'Andy' that does it. Bellatrix always calls her that, and Narcissa and their parents and their Slytherin friends often do too- everybody Andromeda's leaving behind. Ted doesn't like calling her Andy, so he's nicknamed her Dromeda instead. That makes her smile, but it's not her _real_ name, not like Andy is.

Andy Black won't exist after tomorrow.

For the first time, Andromeda realises quite how frightened she is. Despite her love for and familiarity with Ted, leaving her family to be with him is a leap into the unknown. She'll be adopting a whole new life and identity, and killing off the person she's been for nineteen years. It'd be so much easier to stay. For a split-second Andromeda imagines herself dropping to her knees, seizing her sister's dress and begging Bellatrix to renounce it all. To say she's seen the light about how ridiculous and close-minded their family's views are. To promise to stop calling Ted and people like him a "Mublood". To admit that her fascination with the Dark Lord has been one of her over-the-top jokes all along.

"You know they're planning to marry you to Goyle," Bellatrix says lazily.

Andromeda startles and the image of herself begging at her sister's feet disappears abruptly. She swallows to steady her voice, composes herself, and asks, "Where did you hear that?"

"Rabastan told me. Don't ask me who told him, I don't know," Bella shrugs, "They could do worse for you,"

"He's an _imbecile,"_ says Andy, relieved at the change of subject. Something else to focus on.

"He's a man, it's the same thing". For a moment they're girls again, bickering over boys and trying to make each other laugh with their cuttingness.

"He's built like a gorilla," Andy mocks.

"Like that Mudblood boy you were silly over for a while at school," Bella says, giggling, "D'you remember?"

Years of practice ensure that Andromeda does not wince. "Hmm," she says, eyes flicking away and insides feeling suddenly cold.

"Come on, Andy, you _must do,"_ Bellatrix nags.

"Yes, fine. No need to go on about it," Andromeda snaps. Bella smirks again. She thinks that she's irked Andy by reminding her of an embarrassing crush, although really Andromeda can't bear to hear her talk about Ted, especially when she calls him Mudblood. It's too disorientating, too intense, and makes her feel too much guilt toward Ted _and_ Bellatrix.

"Well," says Bella, sighing her dramatic sigh again, "If you're going to throw a strop I should get back to my husband. Thank you for the book,"

That "if" has always been a favourite Bellatrix tactic; make it sound as if the other person is being touchy, rather than Bella being cruel.

"Yes, alright," Andy repeats in a softer tone.

"I'll see you at the Parkinson's tea dance next week,"

"Okay,"

"Don't use that dirty Muggle slang," Bellatrix reprimands, then takes Andy's hand and squeezes it, _"Do_ come over soon, Andy,"

She'll never come over. She'll never see her again. "Goodbye, Bella," Andy says, forcing herself to look up into her sister's eyes (the last time...).This is a mistake because Bellatrix can tell in Andromeda's expression that something isn't right.

"Andromeda?" she asks.

Andy must go now, quickly, before she says anything and before her resolve collapses. She shuts her eyes, leans up and kisses Bella on the cheek. Her sister's skin is cold.

"Goodbye," Andromeda whispers. Then she flees. She dashes back through the landing, back up the stairs and into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Andy leans against the wood, breathless.

"Andy? Andromeda?" Bellatrix calls. After a few moments she huffs, "Fine,"

Andy hears Bella tramp back downstairs to the drawing room, and then the whirr of the fire as Bellatrix Floos away. And then silence. A stretching silence, with nobody to break it. Bellatrix is gone forever. Andromeda gasps, screwing her eyes shut as first tear spills out and begins to track its way down her cheek.


	10. Ten For A Surprise You'd Better Not Miss

Nymphadora was a surprise. It's one of her favourite things to tell people. She tells the butcher, and the Healer, and the lady who drives the bus into Manchester. 

"Mummy and Daddy didn't know they were having a baby, and then I came along! I was a surprise!"

"I don't know why you told her that, Ted," sighs Mummy. Mummy does a lot of sighing.

"I didn't realise she'd go shouting it out to everybody," says Daddy.

"But I like being surprise," Dora pipes up, "Surprises are good. _I_ was a good surprise,"

"You were a _great_ surprise," says Daddy, and ruffles her hair, which is blue today. Nymphadora likes to surprise people by changing what she looks like. She's getting better at it too; last week she learnt to make herself look like Nadia who lives at number 46, and they played all sorts of tricks on Nadia's big brothers. Dora isn't supposed to change her face in front of grown-ups who don't have wands, or kids whose parents don't have wands. That rule is boring. When Nadia asks Dora how she changes her face Dora can't answer. She just can. It's like walking or speaking- sometimes she has to concentrate but it's just something she can do, something normal- except it isn't normal for anybody else. Dora likes being special.

The best kind of surprises are presents. Giving surprise presents is fun because you buy them in secret and have to hide them at home, and when you give them to the person they say, "Gosh!" and "I wasn't expecting this!" and "Thank you very much". And they smile. _Getting_ surprise presents is better than giving them, though. Dora’s best surprise present was the toy dragon she got for Christmas last year. It breathes _real_ fire.

There are some types of bad surprises, like when Daddy puts carrots in the shepherd's pie when he says he wouldn't. Dora gets angry when he does that but Daddy says she has to eat some kind of vegetables. Dora points out that broccoli is a vegetable and Daddy says if she eats any more broccoli she will turn into a tree. (One day, Dora decides, she will learn how to make herself look like a tree. She'll turns her hair green and her skin rough and wrinkly, like the old man who lives around the corner). Sometimes the floor has bad surprises hidden in it, like being wobbly in a place it didn't look wobbly, or having a bit that sticks up to make Dora fall over. Naughty floor.

Children in stories have surprise birthday parties. Dora hasn't had one of those yet but she probably will. It'd make sense because she was a surprise when she was born. (Well, Daddy explained, he and Mummy knew Dora was coming _before_ the day she was actually born. But not a lot before. And it was still a surprise). There will be cake and balloons and games and fireworks and _lots_ of presents. Dora will do all her faces and skin colours and hair colours, and everybody will gasp and clap and say, "Wow! Dora’s faces are _so_ cool!". It will be the best surprise party _ever._


	11. Eleven For Wealth

Orion Black is a wealthy man. Two years out of Hogwarts he got a job in the Department of Magical Trade and Business, and not because of who his father is. Orion got that job through intelligence and hard work, and he got his promotions the same way. It's not the most exciting job in the world but Orion's happy there; he has friends in the office and the money's good. The money is _excellent._ His family eat the best meats and can afford to rent private houses when on holiday to avoid staying near Muggles. Orion earns enough to have afforded a governess for when his sons were younger, allowing Walburga to indulge in her passions for rune translation and wild cats. Her dresses and Orion's suits are always tailor-made, and Orion smokes Honduran cigars. Their house is plush and polished. From an outsider's perspective Orion's wealthy when it comes to family, too. He's been married to Walburga for seventeen years and they have two healthy sons, both away at Hogwarts. Orion should be relishing the peace at home and being able spend more time with his wife now the boys are away. But he isn't. Orion finds himself staying late at work these days, often when it's unnecessary to do so. He's avoiding Walburga; avoiding an argument. Arguments are always about the same subject: Sirius.

The boy has always been trouble. As a toddler his favourite word was "No" _._ At the time it amused Orion, who wryly thought that Sirius must have inherited his feistiness from Walburga, who is bolshy and highly-strung and likes to get her own way (Orion's father claimed, back then when the boys were small, that Walburga henpecked Orion. Orion had dismissed it as an exaggeration and besides, his wife's confidence came in useful at dinner parties when Orion could leave her to talk while he slunk away to a side-table. He's always been more comfortable as an observer). Sirius would yank off the collar and blazer Orion liked him to wear and would get sticky fingers and crumbs in his hair. Even as a toddler Sirius was surly at family gatherings. He grew into a clever boy and Orion knew that he'd be talented at music and languages, but Sirius would play deliberate flats in his piano lessons, and the only French he bothered to remember was swear words. He threw tantrums, he broke things, he snuck into the kitchen to ruin Kreacher's cooking. He was at constant war with the governess. Sometimes Sirius would barricade himself in his bedroom and refuse to come out, and other times he'd sprint naked round the house, howling. Orion was so worried that Sirius would do something like that during a dinner party that whenever colleagues or friends visited, Sirius was sent to stay with Cygnus and Druella for the night. Worst of all was when he bullied his little brother. Sirius hid Regulus' belongings and called him names and hit him. Once, Cygnus had tried to take a family portrait of the four of them and Regulus' chair had to be facing almost sideways to hide the scabs on his face from where Sirius had scratched him. When the pictures were developed Orion hadn't put them up on the wall. No type of discipline worked; by the time Sirius was ten he must have been sent to bed with no dinner more times than the rest of the children in London put together. Taking away toys, giving him extra schoolwork and smacking him on the back of the legs had no effect. Walburga was a harsher disciplinarian than Orion but her punishments didn't work either. The boy was incorrigible.

It was a relief when Sirius left for school, but then of course the wretched boy was sorted into Gryffindor. Walburga burst into tears when she heard, and later claimed that Sirius must have done it on purpose and tricked the Sorting Hat. Orion knew that was ridiculous - the Sorting Hat doesn't take bribes- but it seemed the sort of thing Sirius would do. The boy came home from his first term at Hogwarts draped in a Gryffindor banner, and since then his fanaticism has got worse. Sirius' letters home, rare as they are, are written in red ink. When he's back for the holidays he'll sometimes get up halfway through a dinnertime, pick up his plate and announce, "I'm going to the Gryffindor table, Mother". Walburga wrenches him back into his chair but Sirius smirks throughout the rest of the meal. In the four years since Sirius started Hogwarts his bedroom has become a lion's den of Gryffindor posters and banners, with a new one added every time he comes home. He's stuck up pictures of Muggle sports cars and motorbikes, and some lewd photographs from men's magazines. During the Summer a package had arrived at Orion's office with a note- _Thought you might like this, Dad!_ \- and when Orion opened it he found that it contained one of Sirius' dirty magazines. Half of the pictures were cut out, no doubt for Sirius' bedroom walls, but there were enough pages left in to make Orion blush, glance round to check nobody was looking, and cast _Incendio_ to set the magazine on fire. The boy deserved a hiding for that trick, but he's bigger than Orion now, and Orion suspects that Sirius would punch back if Orion hit him. Orion hadn't wanted to involve his wife either, so he'd had the shame of walking home and seeing Sirius' smug smirk, and knowing that the boy knew he had succeeded in humiliating him.

When Sirius is at school it seems that every week an owl arrives at Grimmauld Place telling Orion and Walburga that the boy has been caught out of bed at night, or stealing, or cheating in tests. This would be bad enough, but Sirius' misbehaviour seems specifically designed to infuriate Orion and Walburga. He's out of bed canoodling with another student, and when Orion reads the surname he knows that it's a Muggle-born. When he steals it suggests to people that Orion Black can't afford to support his own son, and moreover it removes suspension of pocket-money as a punishment- that'll only encourage more theft. Everybody knows that the Blacks are intelligent and honest, so Sirius knows how humiliating it is for Orion Black, Finance Officer of the Department of Magical Trade and Business, to have a son who cheats on tests. When he was a child Sirius could be packed off to his Aunt and Uncle's to avoid embarrassing Orion, but it's harder to control a teenager, and the boy is always coming up with new ways to shame the family.

Regulus is a consolation. Orion's younger son is well-behaved and mild-mannered. He's not tremendously bright, but he works hard and his teachers like him. He's good at Quidditch, and if the Slytherin captain wasn't a Seeker Orion is sure that Regulus could have made the team this year. He's got a nice group of friends- Octavia Flint came over during the Easter holidays and was a delightful girl. Walburga says that Miss Flint's father is one of the Dark Lord's followers, and Orion suspects that Regulus is interested in joining them. The boy's only just turned thirteen, but already he's studying the newspapers for news and cutting out his favourite stories. He listens wide-eyed to the stories his cousin Bellatrix tells of her work. Orion reminds Regulus to keep quiet about his interest and their family connections in front of people who may disprove, and Regulus nods seriously, promising that he will. He's understanding and obedient like that. Sometimes Orion detects some grumpiness setting in, but mostly Regulus is a sweet and conscientious young man. Orion is proud of him.

One of the many problems with Sirius is the effect he's had on Orion's marriage. He and Walburga have had their ups and downs over the years, which Orion knows is normal. Sirius, however, has always been their sticking point. Walburga accuses Orion of being too soft on him, Orion protests that there's not much more he can do.

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Walburga hisses, "You're his father! Why is it always _me_ who has to deal with him?".

The truth is, Orion would prefer _not_ to have to deal with his oldest son. Sirius always wants to stay at school during the Christmas and Easter holidays but Walburga insists that it's important for the family to be together, so she demands that Sirius come home. The boy stays in his room most of the time when he's here (although Orion hasn't ruled out the chance of more rowdy naked parading). When Walburga makes him come out, they argue, and Orion gets dragged into it too. Regulus usually escapes outside to practice throwing and catching against the garden fence, and Orion stares longingly out at him. He wishes that Walburga would let Sirius stay at school. It'd be easier for everybody if the boy wasn't here. Once, foolishly, he said this out loud.

"If we don't bring him back here then it's going to get _worse_ ," Walburga had snapped, "He's getting these ideas from the filth Dumbledore lets into that school. He needs to come back here to reminded of real wizarding values".

She didn't need to mention Cygnus and Druella's daughter. The girl had run away two years previously, bringing shame on her parents. There's talk that Druella and Cygnus are having trouble finding a groom for their youngest daughter, Narcissa, although Orion hasn't asked Walburga how true the rumours are. He doesn't ask her much these days; he isn't interested in her life or her opinions anymore. Sirius has driven a wedge between them, and Orion knows that the boy would laugh his hyena cackle if he knew the effect he's having on his parents' marriage. That's what he wants, isn't it? Wretched boy's out to ruin everything Orion's parents and grandparents worked for.

Orion loves his family, so it pains him to admit how much he dislikes his wife and how much happier his life would be without his oldest son. To admit how impotent all this makes him feel. To admit that he thinks he's losing control of his own life.

Sometimes Orion Black doesn't feel like a wealthy man at all.


	12. Twelve For Health

Today is the day Walburga died. Not that anybody will remember that. There is only the house-elf for company, and Kreacher has no comprehension of dates or time. In the years that she has been here Walburga has spent hours, months, talking to the elf, but she feels no affection or understanding towards him. Why would she? She has spent many months ignoring him, too.

Her death was uneventful. Druella and Cygnus had come to stay, bringing a Healer with them. When death finally came, Walburga had looked up at the Healer- a large, dreadlocked woman (MacDougal, her name was. A pureblood, though not a sacred one), and dainty, pale Druella beside her, gazing at Walburga with her huge owl eyes. Worry had made Druella thin, though not as thin as Walburga, who had been scrawny even before the illness. Cygnus was at work, for which Walburga was glad. He fancied himself as a an important man, a patriarch, but he was still her baby brother. Their mother had died at home and Father in St Mungo’s. Both had passed in their sleep, so Cygnus hadn't seen anybody die before. Walburga hadn't wanted her to be his first. She hadn't wanted to know if Cygnus would cry or freeze or murmur awkwardly, so she was grateful that she didn't have to find out. Walburga had always been quick with a pithy put-down but, gazing up at the two women as her life crept away, she hadn't known what to say. Perhaps there was nothing to say; no final wish, advice or instruction, no plea or thanks, no reassurance of love. Walburga had closed her eyes and thought of Regulus, her sweet boy. The smell of the polish he used on his shoes, the sound of his laugh before his voice dropped, he feel of his long hair between her fingers. She'd be with him again soon. She would forgive him. She already had.

Months later, Walburga felt herself painted back into not-life. The sensation is difficult to remember now, and even harder to describe. The living often wonder what it is like to be a painting, and Walburga can attest that it isn't, as they might expect, unnatural or disorientating. The real Walburga Black is dead. She is in another place with her husband and son. This Walburga is a copy who wears her face and name and yet is Not. Walburga’s portrait feels no discomfort, pride or guilt about her status in this flat near-life, this not-life. She remembers being alive, although she has never been alive, and that is that. It is not as complicated as the living wish to make it. The portrait is a good one, which Walburga is pleased about. The artist, Samantha Abbot, has captured Walburga’s hawkish features, Black jaw, and wavy dark hair well. She’d painted Walburga old but not unhealthy-looking. Walburga’s portrait likes to think that she looks matriarchal and distinguished. She had never been a vain woman but if she catches sight of her reflection in the window, she feels proud and vindicated at her portrait's artistry. But sometimes, Walburga wonders if her outside appearance is at odds with how she feels. Perhaps Miss Abbot used a splayed brush or dirty water, because Walburga’s portrait thinks that she might be going mad. She hears herself say things which make no sense, or she starts yelling at a rat which transpires to merely be a trick of the light. In life, she was often angry, but in death the wrath seems bitterer. When she was alive she knew who or what she was angry at, and why, whereas now her rage is unpredictable. She orders Kreacher to bring her something, and when he returns she becomes angry that she is trapped in her frame and cannot use whatever it was that she demanded he fetch. She cold-shoulders Orion, even though he is not here to ignore. She shrieks and does not know why. For a while, Walburga hoped that somebody would come to the house to talk to (Cygnus and Druella had arranged for Miss Abbot to undertake the painting, but they have not been to visit since). Now she hopes that somebody will come for her to shout at. She wants to see the expression of shock and panic on the intruder's face when she shrieks at them, the same looks present on the faces of the other portraits in the house when they came near her. They have stopped coming now. Walburga only sees another portrait-person every few months, and they rush by quickly to avoid her howls. This both pleases Walburga and upsets her. Is that mad? Is this what going mad is like? Can she be mad if she knows she is?

Kreacher has toddled off, leaving Walburga’s picture to contemplate the anniversary of her death. Seven years. Seven years from her birth she was a dancing, giggling child, excited for the birth of her youngest brother. Perhaps the real Walburga is that girl again now. This Walburga is the dingy, senile portrait forever. The desire to howl builds in her again; she wants to screech at somebody, "It's my death day today! Have some respect? Don't you know who I am?". But nobody knows who she is anymore, and nobody comes, and Walburga is alone, a mad old woman screaming uselessly out from a dusty picture-frame.


	13. Thirteen, Beware- It’s The Devil Himself

His whole family are here. Mother, Father, baby brother, Uncle, Aunt and three cousins. They're clustered around Narcissa singing _Happy Birthday_ , harmonising with each other in that smug way they have. Even Andy, who is usually alright, is joining in. She’s beaming and has one arm hooked lovingly around Cissy’s shoulders. Sirius had never understood how Andromeda can be so normal and non-Black, while also being nice to her sisters. Bellatrix is going to join the Death Eaters and Narcissa’s a silly, simpering girl. Andy’s so cool that Sirius sometimes forgets that she's a girl too- that's probably why she's soppy about her the other two. Girls are wet like that, even cool ones. When they finish singing, drawing out the final "you" for ten seconds, Andy presses a kiss to Cissy’s cheek. Sirius tries to keep a calm look on his face as Narcissa grins up at them all with her white teeth, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looks different to the rest of them. Sirius, Andy Bellatrix and Regulus all have dark hair and features which Mother describes as "strong". There's nothing strong about Narcissa. She's all delicate features, dainty nose and pale skin. Her hair is white-blonde and shiny. Sirius has often heard people say that she's beautiful. Sirius thinks she looks like a ferret. When Sirius starts school in September people will think _he_ is beautiful. He knows he's good-looking. He'll probably be the most handsome boy in his year, which will come in useful even though he doesn't think he likes girls yet.

It's only four weeks ‘til term starts now. Well, four weeks, five days- Sirius glances at the clock on the drawing room wall- nine hours, fourteen minutes and thirty-one seconds. Thirty. Twenty-nine. Then he will be gone. Then he will be free. Mother and Father sometimes use, "Or we won't let you go to Hogwarts!" as a threat, but Sirius knows it's an empty one. They're desperate to get rid of him. Mother took him shopping in Diagon Alley the day his letter arrived, preparing for him to leave as soon as she could. It suited Sirius fine though, because he's been able to shut himself in his room to practice with his wand and books. First he tried _wingardium leviosa_ , and after a few attempts he'd managed to levitate a chocolate frog card. Then he'd moved on to _avada kedavra._ That one wasn't in the _Standard Book of Spells Grade 1,_ but Sirius had read about it and knew what it could do. He'd channelled all his anger, hatred and hope into the spell, but the spiders on his bedroom curtains stayed resolutely alive. After an afternoon Sirius had given up on that one and gone back to the _Standard Book of Spells_ , and now, a fortnight after the trip to Diagon Alley, he could make a goblet levitate in front of him for a full half-minute, and turn a matchstick pointy. He'd hoped to spend the rest of the Summer practising magic in his bedroom and only coming downstairs for meals, but Mother had insisted he be here for Narcissa's birthday visit. It's her sixteenth, not even an important one, but Kreacher had baked a cake and everybody wanted to fuss. Narcissa likes fuss. And since Mother was making him come down, and since it was Narcissa, and since it's so close to school starting and Sirius _has_ to go out with a bang, he's given his cousin a birthday surprise. And it’s going to happen any minute now.

Narcissa blows out her candles (Sirius smirks, remembering how many times he's spat all over the cake when puffing out his own birthday candles), and Uncle Cygnus hands her a knife. Cissy cuts into the cake, slicing downwards, and everybody claps. Regulus gapes like he's never seen a cake before in his life. Sirius used to wonder if this sort of pathetic excitement was Regulus being a brown-noser, or if his little brother really is that stupid and easily-impressed. Nowadays, Sirius doesn't care. He won't have to see his baby brother much more after September. One quick punch to the stomach every holiday should be enough to remind Regulus who’s in charge.

Narcissa slices her cake down the centre, then into quarters, then eighths, which is stupid because there are nine of them here. But then Cissy cuts a slither off one eighth and puts it onto a plate for herself.

"It's your birthday! You can have more than that," barks Bella, but Cissy shakes her head coyly and puts the knife down. When she blew out her candles she probably wished to keep a two-inch waist forever. Girls are stupid.

Aunt Druella plates up the rest of the cake, and Narcissa takes a bit of her tiny slice. Sirius sits up straight for the first time since they all arrived. He hopes Cissy’s piece of cake is big enough- the plan will still work if someone else realises, but it's _Narcissa's_ birthday so Sirius hopes that it's her who gets it first. She chews on her minuscule slide. Chews again. And then her pointy face twists into a frown.

"Eurgh,"

"What?" asks Andromeda, who’s by now removed her arm from around Cissy’s shoulders.

"The cake tastes funny," Cissy murmurs. Sirius grits his teeth to stop himself smiling.

"Let me see," demands Bella, chomping into the slice Aunt Druella just plated up for her. The same expression of distaste spreads across her face too.

"There's something in it,"

"It's probably just undercooked," suggests Aunt Druella.

 _"No_. Somebody's put something in it,"

"Let me try," announces Uncle Cygnus, taking Bellatrix’s plate.

"Is it poison?" asks Regulus. For once Sirius’ idiot brother is on the right track. Sirius is glad he's got them all bickering with one another- finally a disagreement which doesn't involve him. Well, sort of.

"Maybe the eggs are off," Andy suggests.

"It's my _birthday,"_ whines Cissy.

Mother's voice cuts through their squabbling. "Kreacher! Come here this minute!"

Everybody shuts up. It takes several moments for house-elf to stagger into the drawing room. He's on ugly, creaky thing. Like everybody else in this family, he hates Sirius. Sirius hates him back.

"Did you put something in this cake?" Mother demands.

"Kreacher put flour, eggs, butter and sugar into a bowl,” the house-elf recites in his creepy, croaky voice, “Kreacher mixed the-"

"Did you put anything in the cake that shouldn't have been in there?"

Kreacher considers for a long moment, then croaks, "No, mistress,"

Mother grabs Kreacher by his ear. "Lies!"

"Kreacher only put in the cake what is in the recipe," he protests, swinging in Mother's grip. Again, Sirius has to bite back laughter- partly at how frightened the house-elf looks, and partly at the thought that he might be about to get away with this.

Uncle Cygnus takes another vicious bite of cake, swallows, and says, "A likely story. He's poured something into the mixture,” he pauses to, swallows again, then says slowly, "It tastes like broom-polish,"

There’s a beat. Sirius cringes. Then, simultaneously, everybody's head swivels towards him.

 _"You,"_ breathes Father.

Mother bridles, readying herself to shout, but Uncle Cygnus gets there first. "Sirius, come here,"

Sirius slides off his chair and walks around the side of the table toward him- not too fast so it looks like he's hurrying, but not slow enough to seem like guiltily dawdling.

"Did you put broom polish into this cake?" Uncle Cygnus asks. After much begging and many false promises to be good in return for it, Sirius got his first real broomstick for his last birthday. It's one of his most treasured possessions.

Sirius thrusts his chin up and meets his uncle's eye. "No,"

Uncle Cygnus' voice quietens threateningly. "Are you lying to me?"

"No,"

"He is, of course he's lying," growls Mother, letting go of Kreacher's ear so that the elf drops to the floor with a squeal, "You put it in, didn't you?"

"No". When Sirius was younger he might have added that Regulus must have done it, but he knows by now that it's best to stick with simple, direct denial. Besides, perfect prince Regulus is never blamed for anything.

"You did! I know you did!". Mother reaches out for Sirius, clutches onto his collar and yanks him towards her. "You little devil, you'll be lucky if you ever see that broomstick again,"

Who cares? In four weeks he can order a new one. Mother doesn’t understand what “devil” means. It’s just a word to her, but Sirius read the Bible (well, bits of it) a few months ago. This was partly to wind up Mother and Father, and partly to find out what his family thought was so ridiculous about the book and the beliefs it talked about. Turns out the Devil got kicked out of Heaven because of his pride. As if pride is a bad thing. Sirius’ family were right then (for once)- it is a stupid book.

Mother raises her free hand. Sirius braces himself for the blow and suddenly, with shock, realises that she's aiming for his face. He’s has been smacked plenty of times before on the hands, arms, back, bottom, back of the legs- but never the face. And they're in a room full of people. All his family watching, Andy watching. Sirius doesn’t make a decision, he just knows: his cousins will _not_ see him slapped in the face by his mother. They will not. Mother can shout at him, take his toys and his broomstick away, lock him in the cellar with the doxies. She can beat him black and blue later, but she will _not_ humiliate him. Sirius twists in his mother's grasp and ducks down, using the momentum to jerk his collar out from her fingers. His knees meet the floor and he crawls under the table, elbows the chair out of the way, pushes Regulus’ legs aside to get past him, leaps to his feet on the other side of the table, and races out of the drawing room.

Mother snarls his name and Uncle Cygnus booms, "Boy! Stop right there,”

Sirius doesn't stop. He bolts into the hallway and to the front door, flicks the bolts on the front door unlocked and yanks the door open. Sirius races down the front steps, and then he's out in the street and tearing along Grimmauld Place. Number eleven, ten, nine. He’s a fast runner. He’s had lots of practise. He's passing number four, nearly at the corner when he hears Bellatrix's voice screech after him:

"Sirius, you little devil!". There’s that word again. As if it’s a bad thing. The devil must have been bored out of his mind in Heaven with all the angels boasting about how perfect they are.

"Get back here!" adds Mother.

Sirius glances over his shoulder to see the pair of them and Andy leaning out of the front door to watch him.

"Orion, go after him!" Mother shouts into the house.

Sirius flicks two fingers up at them all (Andromeda isn't really deserving of the insult, but she didn't defend him either), sprints to the end of the road and round the corner, laughing to himself. It doesn't matter if Father comes after him. It doesn't matter that even if Father doesn't catch him, Sirius will have to come home at some point. What matters is that he's got one over on his family, and he’s kept his dignity. Pride is the most important thing. Sirius hoots happily up at the July sunshine. The devil didn’t fall at all, Sirius reckons. He escaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story. It’s been fascinating to get inside of the heads of the people in this extraordinary family. This is my favourite story I’ve ever written and I hope you have enjoyed it to. Please review to let me know your thoughts.


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